


One Hundred Percent

by zeldadestry



Category: Entourage
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-11
Updated: 2011-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-27 05:14:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldadestry/pseuds/zeldadestry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s just finished a game on a Saturday, is sitting down at one end of the court, draining his bottle of water, it’s pretty damn warm for the middle of March, when someone says, “Hey, Eric.”</p><p>The back of his neck prickles at the voice and he turns around to find Vincent Chase standing about ten feet behind him.  He knows who Vince is, everyone knows who Vince is.  “Hey, how ya doing?”</p><p>Vince shrugs, closes the distance between them and sinks down beside Eric.  “You’re fierce out there,” he says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Hundred Percent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aeiouna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeiouna/gifts).



For his eighteenth birthday, his mom gets him two tickets to a Knicks game. He hugs her, thanks her, asks if she wants to be his guest, because asking anyone else first seems ungrateful. She kisses his cheek, shakes her head. “You’re a good boy, Eric. Take one of your friends.”

  


He plays pick-up games sometimes, on the weekends, at the nearest court. He gets knocked around a lot, of course, he can’t help it that he’s slight, but he always gets himself back up on his feet so people respect him. He’s an awesome passer, and guys want him on their team.

He’s just finished a game on a Saturday, is sitting down at one end of the court, draining his bottle of water, it’s pretty damn warm for the middle of March, when someone says, “Hey, Eric.”

The back of his neck prickles at the voice and he turns around to find Vincent Chase standing about ten feet behind him. He knows who Vince is, everyone knows who Vince is. “Hey, how ya doing?”

Vince shrugs, closes the distance between them and sinks down beside Eric. “You’re fierce out there,” he says. “I see you in school and you’re all-”

“Watch yourself.” Eric is so sick of people giving him shit because he’s a good student.

Vince smirks. “See, that’s what I mean. You seem so-”

“You call me a choir boy, I swear to god I’ll kick your ass.”

“Are you gonna let me finish my fuckin thought or not?” Eric beckons with his hand. “You seem so cool, like you’ve got everything under control but, out here, you’re different aren’t you?” Now it’s Eric’s turn to shrug. “Yeah, you are.” Vince leans closer, breathes in, like the scent of Eric’s sweat is something he actually wants. “On fire,” he murmurs, hot exhale near Eric’s ear, and then he’s taking to his feet, smooth and easy, like he didn’t just somehow punch Eric in the gut with nothing but words, and ambles away like nothing’s any different.

“What the fuck,” Eric says, under his breath, and feels his heart pounding against his ribs.

  


He rarely spots Vince at school, he’s not sure how often the dude actually shows up for classes, but he finds him sometimes at parties.

Tonight he’s in a corner, all by himself, which in itself is something of a miracle, and is the only thing that makes it possible for Eric to walk over towards him. When Vince notices Eric approaching he smiles, stretches, like he’s showing off every inch of that lean body.

“Hey,” Eric says, already a little drunk and not giving himself time to over-think it, “I’ve got tickets for the Knicks-Bulls game this Sunday.”

“Cool,” Vince says. He holds out his red plastic cup. “This is really good, you want some?”

Eric lifts his beer. “Nah, I’m good.” Vince nods, takes another sip of his drink, eyes on Eric’s the whole time. “So, you wanna go?” Eric asks.

Someone jostles Eric from behind and he stumbles forward a little. Vince puts out a hand to steady him and doesn’t take it away, rubs his thumb across Eric’s chest. He leans closer. “Go where? In the back?”

Yeah, right. Eric’s mind insists that he wouldn’t fuck the hottest girl in the world in a back room, never mind some guy he barely knows, but his body doesn’t seem to agree. He’s blushing, he wishes to god he wasn’t, but he can feel his face heating up. Vince’s smile widens as he slides his hand down Eric’s torso and hooks a finger in his belt loop, tugging, like the foot and a half of space between them is just too much. Eric wraps his hand around Vince’s wrist and squeezes. “Cut it out,” he says. “I didn’t mean anything like that. I don’t- that’s not me. No way, ok?”

“Oh. Yeah, yeah, I got you.” Vince lets his hand drop, presses both of his palms against the wall behind him, as if he’s trying to prove to Eric that they won’t make trouble again. “Sorry, I- that was stupid of me, I’m just wasted,” he says, but they both know it’s an excuse. His head falls forward, his hair covering his face, but Eric doesn’t want him to hide.

“I meant the game,” Eric tries to explain. “I’ve got the ticket. That’s what I meant, what I wanted to ask.”

Vince shakes his head. “That’s- that’s nice, E, thanks, but I- I can’t.”

Eric doesn’t know what the hell is going on but what he does understand is that he doesn’t want to have fucked everything up, even if he has no idea what everything means. “Please?” he says. “It’s for my birthday.”

Vince relaxes, and Eric feels like everything’s back as it should be, as it needs to be, especially when Vince pushes his hair out of his face and smiles again. “Well, in that case, happy fuckin birthday.”

  


Eric doesn’t enjoy the game as much as he expected. It’s good, of course, especially when the Knicks win, but Vince doesn’t act like anything other than a friend and what really gets under Eric’s skin and makes him worry is that it bothers him not having Vince’s attention on him, not in the way it was at the park, at the party, when Vince seemed to be playing with him, daring him to reach out and take.

  


Eric sees Vince more often after that, around the neighborhood. They shoot the shit, sitting on stoops, talking about basketball, the famous women Johnny claims he’s banging when he’s obviously never even met them, the movies they’ve seen. They spend a lot of time talking about movies, actually. Eric never realized before what strong opinions he has about directors and actors, what they do that he likes, what he thinks they should change.

They’re sitting in front of Vince’s building one April evening when Vince says, “Hey, you wanna help me out with this scene I’m working on?”

“Yeah, ok,” Eric says, and follows Vince inside. He’s never been to Vince’s place before and he tries not to stare at the family photographs, though he’s curious.

“You want a drink?”

“Sure.” Vince tosses Eric a beer, grabs himself one, and picks up a battered book from the kitchen table. He brings it over to Eric like an offering. Eric looks at the cover. “Chekhov? Damn, Vin. Is this for school?” He takes a seat on the couch.

Vince sits down close beside him. “Nah, I started a scene study class at a studio in the city.”

“Oh, yeah? Good for you.”

“It was Johnny’s idea. He loaned me the money.” Eric nods. As far as he knows, Johnny Drama’s an idiot, but apparently he means well, sometimes. Vince takes the book, opens it to a particular page, and then places it back into Eric’s hands. “So, that’s the scene. I’m playing Astrov.”

Eric skims over the parts that are highlighted. “Got it.”

“Will you read it with me?”

Eric almost spits out his mouthful of beer. “Are you serious?”

“Come on, E. I really need help.”

“Yeah, but you want me to play Yelena? She’s a woman.”

“A beautiful woman,” Vince teases, and pinches Eric’s cheek.

“Watch it,” Eric says, batting Vince’s hand away.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Vince drawls, putting his hand over his heart. “I promise. You’re all man, E, I’ll never say otherwise.”

“Shut up, you moron.” Eric finishes his beer and puts the bottle down on the end table. “Alright,” he says, taking to his feet, the book in his hand. “You got your lines memorized?”

“Yeah.”

“Then let’s get this shit over with.”

Eric reads his lines from the book but when Vince talks he just watches him, tries to do what he’s there for, evaluate, help. “Take a bow,” Vince says, after they’ve finished, and Eric bends forward while Vince claps. “So,” he says, flopping back down on the couch, “how bad was it?”

“It was good, Vin, it was real good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Is there anything I should do different?”

Eric shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Tell me.”

Eric scratches the back of his neck. “This guy, he’s an intellectual, right? And you’ve got that down, his authority. You sound like you know what you’re talking about. But you’re casual, and this guy cares, ok? He’s intense. He cares a lot.”

“But he’s also depressed.”

“Yeah?”

“He’s really depressed and he’s an alcoholic.”

“Oh.” Eric frowns, looks down at the text again. “But he’s not depressed at this moment, right? I mean, he’s got this amazing woman listening to him talk about his work. He’s gotta feel pretty good about that, at least.”

“Yeah. He’s definitely attracted to her.”

“So let more of that show.”

“But because he likes her so much, he wants to be sure, you know? He’s still feeling her out.”

“Ok.” Eric thinks for a moment. “So you play it both ways, you know what I mean? When your attention’s on what you’re trying to teach her, then you go all out, but when your attention’s actually on her, then you’re too cool for it, then you step back. That will build the suspense for the audience, but also for you, I mean your character, you know? Because he’s not going to kiss her yet, but maybe he’s thinking about it the whole time.” Eric can see it playing out in his mind, Vince on stage, drawing her, the audience, in, close, close, before turning away again, guaranteeing that all eyes are fixed on him, waiting to see what he’ll do next, if he’ll seize her, how it’ll end. “Does that make sense?”

“Damn, E.”

“What?”

“You’re better at this than my teacher, you know that? And he’s like a professional director.”

“Whatever. Don’t kiss my ass.”

Vince winks at him. “So where should I kiss you?”

Eric just rolls his eyes. “Shut up and get me another beer.”

  


“Columbia, huh? That’s some swank shit, E.” Turtle raises his cup.

Eric shakes his head, takes another gulp of his drink, though he’s already seeing the room wobble around him. This is the last party before graduation, maybe his last chance to get wasted and do something stupid. He knows himself, though, knows that whether he takes the fall or holds back he’ll end up with a regret, either way. “Nah, I got a scholarship. My family couldn’t afford it, otherwise.”

“Ivy League Murphy. Gonna forget all the schmucks you’re leaving behind?”

“Fuck, no.”

“My man!” Turtle says, slapping Eric on the back. “Here’s what you gotta do, E. Major in Economics, get a job at some Wall Street firm, make a million a year for ten years, then retire, throw a party every night, and make sure to invite us!” Turtle drains his cup. “Of course, we won’t be here, but we’ll see ya when we see ya.” He stumbles off in search of a refill.

Vince takes Turtle’s place beside Eric. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Eric clears his throat. “Turtle said- you won’t be here? You going someplace, Vin?”

Vince shrugs, almost apologetic. “Heading out to LA in a week.”

“Seriously?” Eric doesn’t know why his stomach drops. He knew, didn’t he, that Vince wasn’t gonna stay here forever? He knew, yeah, but he didn’t know things would change so soon. He’d thought there’d be the summer, at least.

“Yeah. My brother, he’s gonna let us crash at his place until we get one and he’s gonna introduce me to his agent.”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s good, Vince.” Eric’s drunker than he thought, finds it difficult to force a smile.

“E.” Vince runs a hand down the back of Eric’s arm, all the way until their fingertips brush against each other and Eric shivers. “You know what I’m gonna miss most of all?”

“What?” Vince doesn’t answer, just grabs Eric’s wrist and pulls him around the corner and into a small, shadowed room. There’s just enough street light coming in from the window for Eric to be sure that they’re alone. “I’m gonna sit down,” Vince says, and lowers himself into a corner of the couch.

Eric stays by the door, his hand on the knob. “Are you drunk?”

“Buzzed. You?”

“A little more than that.”

“Get over here.” Eric rubs the back of his hand across his forehead. He’s sweating. “I’m not gonna ask twice,” Vince says, and Eric wonders if he’s acting, playing someone dangerous. That’s ok, Eric can act, too, pretend he knows what the hell he’s doing. He walks over to Vince, stands in front of him, like he’s waiting for his next order. He’s still got his drink in his hand. “Finish that,” Vince says. Eric drinks the rest and then Vince grabs the plastic cup out of his hand and tosses it away. “Sit down,” he whispers, and Eric does, making sure to leave a good foot or so between their bodies. He’s being a coward and he knows it, but he’s not drunk enough, maybe he couldn’t ever get drunk enough, to admit what he wants, that his mouth’s watering, and his blood’s rushing down to his dick, and he wants his hands on Vince, all over Vince’s body. Vince closes in to drag his wet mouth up Eric’s throat, both of his arms wrapping around Eric’s waist to draw their bodies together. Vince’s lips are parted, panting by Eric’s ear. “Tell me what you want,” he pleads. Vince pulls away just enough so that they can see each other’s faces. “Seriously, E, anything you want.” He stares down at Eric’s crotch, then looks back up into Eric’s eyes and licks his lips.

Christ. Is Vince really offering to blow him? Eric reaches out a hand, brushes Vin’s hair away from his eyes. He’s tilting forward when the knock at the door sends them jolting apart. Vince puts a finger to his lips and Eric has a split second of hope before the door’s thrown open and he curses himself for not thinking to lock it behind them.

Turtle’s standing in the doorway, and the light spilling from the hallway into the room ruins everything, has Eric putting even more space between himself and Vince. “Vince, I was looking for you.”

“Here I am,” Vince says. “What’s the big fuckin deal, man?”

Eric’s heart is racing and since they can’t go backwards, since the moment’s gone, he just needs to get out of here as quickly as possible. “I need another drink,” he mutters, getting up from the couch and pushing past Turtle. He hears Vince call out his name, but he doesn’t turn around. He ends up leaving the party with Teresa Dario and, when they’re alone together in her room, he doesn’t even bother lying to himself. No other girl at the party reminded him as much of Vince.

  


He’s startled when he gets home from work a few days after the party and finds Vince waiting on his stoop. He actually stops, because Vince is staring down at his feet and hasn’t noticed him yet, and just watches him for a moment. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Vince grins. He stands and moves towards Eric, talking fast. “Listen, I know this is a long shot, but do you wanna come to LA with me? I mean, I know you’ve got school and shit in the fall, but just for a couple of months? We’re driving, me, and Turtle, and this girl from my class who’s moving out to LA, too, so there’s space for one more in the car.” Vince is nervous. Eric doesn’t even know what to say. It’s too surreal. “You’ve never been to California before, right?” Eric shakes his head. “So, come on, man, everyone’s gotta go at least once. I know you, you get shit done, you don’t put shit off, so come on. You wanna?”

“I can’t.” It’s the truth. His mom depends on him. He’s working full time, more than full time, to help her out and also so he’ll have the money he needs when he starts school and drops back down to part time. “I don’t have a stipend or anything.”

“What?”

“I’ve got a grant for my tuition, but I’ve gotta take care of everything else.” And I can’t do it because it’s crazy, he thinks. I can’t just run off with you because, no matter how much you look like a movie star, this ain’t no fuckin movie. “Maybe-” he trails off. Stupid. He’s so stupid, but Vince is staring at him, like he can’t wait for the next words Eric might say. “Maybe, if things were different-”

“Different.” Vince nods, eyes bright, and Eric realizes how very much he doesn’t know about him yet. Eric knows all the things in his own life he would change and it looks like Vince also carries around a hope or two. “I really like you, E, you know that? I wish-” Vince looks away. “Never mind.”

“Wait.” Eric puts his hand on Vince’s shoulder. “What? Tell me.”

“I wish we woulda been friends earlier.”

Eric wonders if that’s really what Vince wishes, really what he stopped himself from saying. ‘Well, we’re friends now,” he says, promises, really.

“Yeah.” Vince rests his hand over Eric’s for just a moment before he pulls away. “Take care of yourself.”

“Yeah, Vin, you too.” Eric watches him go.

  


Eric won’t see Vince again for eight years. Sometimes he’ll wonder if he would have gone along if he knew that was to be the outcome. He wouldn’t have said fuck it to all his responsibilities, he could never be that guy, but if no one had needed him, if he’d been independent, then, yeah, maybe he would have just thrown away all of his own plans.

  


Three years into college, Eric’s in the neighborhood to visit his ma for Sunday dinner when he sees Johnny Drama and Turtle crossing the street to meet him. “Holy shit, what are you two losers doing back here?”

“Got an offer for a cop show,” Johnny says, sticking out his chest. “Films in New York. Mark my words, it’s gonna be awesome.”

“Alright, Johnny.” Eric bumps fists with him. “Congratulations.” He turns to Turtle next and they hug. “Hey.”

“Hey, E, how ya been?”

“Ok, thanks. How the hell are you?”

“Great. No worries.”

“Are you visiting or what?”

“Nah.” Turtle jerks a thumb in Johnny’s direction. “I’m working for Drama, can you believe that shit?”

“No.” Eric laughs. “As what?”

“Personal assistant,” Johnny says.

“More like your babysitter,” Turtle counters. “And-” he blows on his knuckles and rubs them back and forth on his shirt, “there’s also the incredible weed I grow.”

Eric narrows his eyes, calculating. “Yeah? Your shit’s good?”

“Oh, it’s sweet, trust me.” He pulls a card out of the pocket of his sweatshirt and hands it to Eric.

Eric looks down at Turtle’s new number, grateful for a reason to avoid their eyes when he asks, “So Vin’s still in LA?”

“Yeah.”

Eric nods. “How’s he doing?”

“You know Vince,” Drama says, “he always lands on his feet.”

That comment bothers Eric, with its suggestion that something may have toppled over and needs to be set right. He and Vince, they never got the chance to be as close as they wanted, but Eric knew him well enough. Vince needs people, needs their company, their admiration, their support, and if his brother and his best friend aren’t around, well, what then? He nods again, suddenly uncomfortable. He checks his watch. “I gotta go. I’ve still got the same cell. Call me, we’ll get a drink, ok?”

“Sounds good, E,” Turtle says.

“So long, Murphy,” Drama says, sticking out his hand.

They shake, and Eric never in his life would have believed that seeing Johnny and Turtle could make him feel so lost, so homesick, when he’s standing only two blocks over from the building where he grew up.

  


A month before he graduates, with a double major in English and Econ, Eric gets hired by a publishing company Harvey Weingard’s founding. He starts working there on the first of June. He’s in acquisitions, which means that keeping tabs on celebrities is part of his routine, since Harvey is adamant about signing authors who have as big a built-in platform as possible. If he searches for Vince’s name, sometimes, what’s the big deal?

  


It’s bad timing, how Vince starts appearing at events with Amanda Daniels just after Eric and Emily break up. Eric’s heart’s already bruised but somehow it never bothers him as much as when he sees their names linked on entertainment sites. He’s a little surprised, too, he thought he’d heard a rumor about Amanda hooking up with Dana Gordon after they co-starred in an indie comedy as dysfunctional sisters.

When photographs first appear online of Amanda and Vince attending a premiere together, Eric looks at every single one of the two dozen, even though he’s embarrassed by his curiosity. After he’s finished, he leans back in his desk chair, shaking his head. Eric’s had Vince’s attention focused on him, he knows what it’s like to be, for just a moment, the center of Vince’s universe, and he’s also watched Vince act. And this, what he just looked at? This is Vince acting, he knows it is. But, hey, the association with a famous actress is probably helping to raise Vince’s visibility, so Eric leaves it at good enough.

  


Over the next year, Vince does land a supporting role in two major studio releases, but in both movies he’s been cast as vapid eye candy and Eric watches the performances in such aggravation, it’s painful. Vince could do so much more than that cliché bullshit, Eric knows he could.

  


“Eric?”

Eric’s just been bawled out by Harvey because he suggested they pass on a memoir that’s now rocketing up the best-seller lists. Sure, Eric’s reason for refusal remains valid, seeing as most of the story was obviously bullshit but, since no one’s busted the author yet, all anyone cares about is how it’s selling, which means he’s screwed. Still, the voice on the other end of his cell phone somehow erases the epic rant of the last ten minutes from his mind. “Yeah?”

“Hey, E, this is-”

“Vince?”

“So you remember me? That’s a good start.”

“Shit, Vin, yeah, how’ve you been?”

“Great.” There’s no enthusiasm behind the response but Eric respects Vince too much to push.

“You still in Cali?”

“Yeah, I’m on the beach right now, actually. I bet you freckle when you’re out in the sun, huh, E?”

“Mostly I burn.” Eric smiles. “And then I freckle.”

“Thought so.” Vince can sound smug, satisfied, about anything. It’s one of Eric’s favorite things about him. “Still think you shoulda moved out here, though.”

“Don’t think that I haven’t regretted my choice.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure, once or twice.” Vince could have been moving to Prague, for all Eric’s ever cared. The missed opportunity was not going someplace new, it was losing the chance to stay with Vince, stay together, whatever the fuck that would have even meant. “But that was a long time ago.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” Jesus. Eric bites his lip, has no idea what to say. The silence stretches until Vince breaks it again. “Listen, E, I wrote something.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s a novel, actually.”

It’s weird, Eric gets requests like this frequently and they usually irritate him, make him bristle, but he can’t be mad at Vince, especially not when he sounds so hesitant. “No kidding. That’s awesome, Vin.”

“Yeah, it- I liked it, you know? Being able to make something that was exactly how I wanted, no waiting for someone to cast me, or working with some one over my shoulder directing me.”

“Absolutely.” Eric swivels his chair around so he can look out the window but it’s a gray day and it only makes him wish he was beside Vince. “It’s gonna rain.”

“Yeah? No clouds in the sky over here.”

Eric closes his eyes. “You gonna send me some pages?”

“Yeah.”

“Great.”

“I don’t- I don’t know if it’s any good, E.”

“So I won’t get my hopes up.”

Vince laughs and Eric swears to god he has never wanted to see someone’s face in front of him as much as he does right now. “Alright, cool, me neither.”

“Take care, Vin. It’s good to hear your voice.”

“Yeah, you too, E. Bye.”

“Bye,” Eric says, and holds his phone against his chest for a moment after he ends the call.

  


A few weeks pass before Eric receives a heavy manila envelope from Vince, who’d apparently decided to send the whole manuscript. When Eric gets home that night at ten, he kicks off his shoes, sits down on the couch, rests his feet on the coffee table, and starts reading. By one in the morning, when he finishes, his eyes are aching, like he hadn’t blinked once. His heart’s hammering as he dials Vince’s number, but the phone rings a few times and goes into voice mail. “Listen, Vin, with your permission, I wanna send this out to some people I know. I- I love this. I really, I don’t know what else to say. Thank you for sending it to me. Call me back, ok?”

  


When Eric walks into the restaurant, Lloyd and Brandon are waiting for him, drinks in front of them and a plate of appetizers between them. “Hey, guys, sorry I’m late.”

“It’s ok, E,” Lloyd says, his arm draped over Brandon’s shoulders. “We found ways to pass the time.”

Eric takes the empty chair across from Lloyd. “So what do you think?”

“For an entrée? I can’t decide.” Lloyd drums his fingers on the menu. “It’s hot today, I want something light.”

Eric rolls his eyes. “I meant about the manuscript, come on.”

“Patience, E.” Lloyd tsk-tsks him.

“Try the mushroom crostini,” Brandon says, pushing the plate of food over to Eric’s side of the table. “It’s delicious.”

Eric snorts. “Are you fucking with me?” The guys laugh at him. “You are. Here I am, dead serious, and you’re totally fucking with me.”

“Kind of,” Lloyd says, reaching across the table to pat Eric’s hand, “but you’ve got nothing to worry about. We loved it.”

“It made me cry,” Brandon says.

Lloyd leans in to kiss his boyfriend’s cheek. “Aw, honey, you cry at everything.”

“It made me cry a lot,” Brandon clarifies.

“Yeah, it’s moving, am I right? The guy tries to get his shit together in so many different ways, nothing seems to work out, but he doesn’t feel sorry for himself.”

“And it was hot,” Brandon says.

Lloyd fans himself with his hand. “So hot.”

“Yeah.” Eric glances over at the empty chair to his right, as though he might find Vince magically lounging there. “I thought so, too.” When he looks up again, Lloyd and Brandon are staring at him with identical expressions, their eyebrows raised. “What?”

“You thought the man on man sex was hot?” Lloyd asks.

Eric shrugs. “Sure. Sex is sex, right?”

“The stuff about being a rent boy, though, that could be tricky.” Brandon snickers. “Tricky. I didn’t even mean that.”

Rent boy. Eric never thought of “Vic” like that. Yeah, he looked for people who could help him, take care of him, but that wasn’t only about money. He was alone and trying to connect with people. “What do you think, Lloyd?”

“It gets pretty depressing at times and without a fix-it-all happy ending. That could limit the market.”

“Not a problem if we shop it as literary fiction with the potential for a crossover to mass market, especially if we can get it in the hands of anyone in LA who might want to option it.”

Lloyd nods. “I can definitely see it as a feature.”

“So you’re in?”

“Eric, I want to be completely honest with you. I don’t think I’m the best person to rep this book.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Lloyd, I know what you can do.”

“I appreciate that, but this is obviously very important to you. And if it means so much to you, then you’re going to want to go with the best.”

“You mean the fucking beast.”

“Talk to Ari.” Eric shakes his head, crosses his arms over his chest. “Play stubborn all you want, E, you know I’m right.”

  


Ari Gold is an asshole and most people aren’t willing to deal with him unless they absolutely must. Vince’s novel isn’t going to be an easy sell but Eric knows that if Ari sees something in it, believes in it, then he’ll make it happen. Ari’s famous for discovering and exploiting every single commercial prospect of a project. Eric knows what he thinks of Vince’s story, that it’s compelling, tragic, he doesn’t need Ari to tell him how the work affects him. Eric understands the value of the novel and Ari will definitely know how to earn Vince what he deserves.

  


“How’s my favorite leprechaun?”

“What’s your word on the Chase manuscript, Ari?”

“You’re kinda fixated on this, huh, Eric? This guy your butt buddy or something?”

“Yeah, right, I’ve got my dick in his mouth right now.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it. If I didn’t know you have absolutely no talent I might have thought this was some sort of self-insertion porno you’d written.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Ari?”

“Seriously, is this about you and your dream boy?”

“I’m busy. Make sense or I hang up.”

“This Murray guy remind you of anyone, Murphy?”

Damn. Eric was an idiot for hoping Ari wouldn’t pick up on that because the character’s a minor one, the narrator’s high school crush who only appears in flashbacks. “Nope,” he lies.

“Shit, this guy really is your boyfriend, isn’t he?” Ari sounds awed. “You know how to pick them. The hot ass I tap can’t write for shit.”

Eric smirks. “She know you call her that instead of wife?”

“I have no secrets from my piece.”

“Right.”

“Seriously, E, I do want this book, I want this writer. He got anything else?”

Eric’s glad they’re on the phone so Ari can’t see his triumphant fist pump. “Yeah, absolutely, he’s got a pretty solid draft for a novel he wrote before the one you’ve read, and he’s working on a new project now.”

“Excellent. Honestly, my only worry, well, I’ve got two. One is that, given my many connections in Hollywood-”

“Stop bragging.”

“Aw. Green really is your color, little man.”

“Hey, you know who else is short?”

“Still bigger than you. Anyway, to get back to the point, you rude bastard, I figured out who a lot of the people in the book are based on. I don’t think anything’s actionable, but I’ll get that confirmed. Which brings us to the other issue. I don’t wanna see this marketed as a roman a clef, because that would build an expectation that all of Chase’s future books are gonna be about the lifestyles of the loaded and notorious. Then again, we could sell the shit out of this if we market it as a novel length blind item, you hear me? So, I want you to bring your boyfriend in for a meeting, and I want you to send me the other shit he’s working on, ok? Because if I think he’s got more than one book in him, we’re looking at this for the long haul, but, hey, and I want you to listen to me, if this is some one ejaculate wonder-”

“Shut up.”

“Am I turning you on, E? Anyway, if he blew his big wad-”

“I really hate you.”

“Spank me and prove it.” Ari whistles.

“What?”

“I just pulled down my zipper and got out my dick because I am currently staring at a photo of one Vincent pretty boy Chase. I love this kid, Eric. Anyone with a pulse would stand in line to fuck him.”

“Ari. That whole book is about what it’s like to be treated like a piece of ass, you get that, right?”

The only reason Eric trusts Ari at all is because, when he calls him on his shit, the ego and persona fade just enough to recognize the guy underneath them. “I know,” Ari says, finally. “Of course I know he’s a person, but the reason he’ll be hiring me is because I will sell his ass, metaphorically speaking, everywhere I can, right?”

“Not entirely.”

“Then what, E?”

“Look, Vince is- he’s just starting out with this. He’s been through some shit, ok? So I want this to be a good thing in his life and that means you need to be the pit bull. I want you to be the god damn attack dog, you hear me?”

“Christ. You are so whipped already. You’re a sad excuse for a man.”

Ignoring Ari’s insults is sometimes the ideal remedy. “I told him that you would give him good notes. And you will, right, Ari? I bet you’ve already marked up your copy of the manuscript, haven’t you?”

“Speaking of, I gotta know, what did this look like before you took your magic red pen to it?”

“I didn’t touch it.” There’s a long enough silence that Eric wonders if the call got dropped. “Ari?”

“I can’t believe I am now in your fucking debt, you little turd. Best thing I’ve read in three years and you just present it to me on a platter.” Ari snickers. “You’re a brave man, E. I hope you didn’t want kids.”

“What the hell?”

“Harvey’s gonna cut off your balls when he finds out you didn’t bring this to him first.”

“Let me worry about my testicles, ok?”

“You better. Anyway, I gotta run. Get me drafts of his other projects ASAP. Call Emily and have her schedule a meeting for the three of us. And Murphy? Go to hell.”

It’s their standard sign off. “I’ll see you there, Ari.”

  


Vince’s most recent film role was in an indie, as a junkie. The movie received an extremely limited theatrical release but Eric owns the DVD. He’s never managed to watch the whole thing. It’s hard to see Vince so broken down because Eric knows too much about his acting process to be able to comfort himself with the words “it’s only pretend”. The feelings can be very real. He knows that.

Tonight he watches the movie again, all the way through. It’s the best performance Eric’s ever seen Vince give. Is that because he could identify with it, did it mirror something from his own life? And yet, as much as it may sicken him to see Vince, Vince’s character, floundering, drowning, the hunger in his face, when he’s close to getting what he wants, what he needs, affects Eric in a very different way.

  


“Hey.”

“Vin, hey.” Eric hopes his voice doesn’t sound as shaky and wiped as his body feels.

“Sorry, did I interrupt something?”

“No.”

“Did I wake you?”

“No. What’s up?”

“Just wanted to say hi, let you know I’m flying in next Saturday, so you can schedule any meetings you want for the week after that.”

“Great, I’ll call Ari’s office in the morning.”

“You by yourself right now?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Because do you know how you sound?”

“No.”

“Well-fucked.”

Eric laughs. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

“No? Then what’s up?”

“I had this dream.”

“So I did wake you.”

“No. I had this dream and it woke me, before you called.”

“Nightmare?”

“No, not at all.” Eric rolls over on his side, stretches out a hand as though someone lay across from him and he wanted to touch them. “It was a very, very good dream, actually.”

“Hmmm.” Vince speaks quietly, slowly, like he wants to drag out all of Eric’s secrets. “So you had a, let me quote you, very, very good dream, and it woke you up- I think I can fill in the rest of the story-”

“You are the writer, after all.”

“But I’d rather hear it from you. What’d you do between waking up and answering my call, E?”

“I jerked off, Vin.”

“You still sounded breathless when you picked up. I caught you coming down, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Vince exhales. “I really don’t want to wait ten more days to see you.”

“No kidding.”

  


There’s been no forced conversation or strained silence, only a hug that felt like a return and loud talk to each other across their table at Eric’s favorite, insanely crowded, Italian restaurant. And now here they stand, in Eric’s kitchen, the island between them. Eric opens a bottle of wine, a burgundy, pours a few mouthfuls into a glass, hands it to Vince. “See what you think.”

Vince takes a sip. “I don’t know anything about wine.”

“Doesn’t matter. You like it?”

“It’s ok.”

Eric takes the glass back from him, stops up the bottle and puts it aside. “I’ve got Patron.”

“Limes?” Eric grabs a couple of them from a wooden bowl and throws them at Vince, who catches them and grins. “Hell yeah.”

They each take a few shots and, on top of the beers from dinner, Eric’s feeling pretty good. “Come on,” he says, dragging Vince into the living room. “We might catch the end of the game.”

They sprawl at opposite ends of the couch, kick their feet up on the coffee table and watch Carmelo Anthony dunk on the Celtics. “E?”

“Yeah.”

“I gotta tell you something.”

“What?”

“You’re not gonna like it.”

Eric mutes the television, turns his head towards Vince. “What?”

“I’m a Lakers fan now.”

Eric flips him off and turns the volume back on, turns it up. “You’re a fucking asshole is what you are, don’t even joke about that.”

It’s a close game in the fourth, which means lots of fouls and time outs. During one of them, Vince says, “Is there anything you want to ask me about the book?”

Eric could ask so many questions but they all reduce down to one. “How much of it is true, Vin?”

“It’s got autobiographical elements, yeah, but it’s not a memoir.”

“Your dad?”

“What?”

“Was he like that?”

“A violent drunk? Yeah.”

“And your mom?”

“A depressed drunk? Yeah.”

“Your first boyfriend?”

“Shit, I don’t ever think of him like that. He was just the first guy I had sex with, no more, no less. Yeah, it was fucked up, it wasn’t good.” Vince leans his head back, so it rests against the arm of the couch, stretches his legs out, tucks his toes underneath Eric’s thighs. “He was fucked up. He wasn’t good.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok. It’s over.”

“Yeah.” Eric wants to reach out. He does, lets his hand curve around the back of Vince’s bare foot. Even Achilles had a weakness, he thinks, don’t worry, I’ll protect you. “Hey, you remember that party at Solita’s?”

“The graduation party?” Vince tips his head down, so they’re watching each other again. “Sure.”

“Were you-”

“Absolutely. Fuckin Turtle. Worst cockblock of all time.” Vince shakes his head.

“Have you been with a lot of guys? Shit. I don’t mean- I don’t care- I mean, I do, I mean, it doesn’t matter to me, I’m just curious.”

Vince smiles, but it’s forced, fake. “Define a lot.”

“I was just- it’s stupid, I just- I don’t know what I’m doing.” Eric lets go of Vince’s foot, gets up from the couch and heads back into the kitchen, aware of Vince following behind him. The light’s off in there and he doesn’t bother to turn it on. He grabs the first glass he sees and fills it with cold water from the faucet. He doesn’t drink from it, just holds it in his hand, a useless prop he’s dependent on.

“So have you ever been with a guy?” Vince asks.

Eric glances over his shoulder. Vince is leaning against the doorframe, loose as ever, and somehow that calms Eric. “Yeah, I guess. Drunken hook up once or twice, nothing like-”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

“Nothing like being with a woman?”

“That’s not what I meant.” It shouldn’t be like this. He shouldn’t feel more for Vince than he does for anyone that he’s actually been with. He shouldn’t, but he does.

Vince takes a few steps into the room and Eric turns from the sink but keeps his eyes fixed on the counter in front of him. “Are you comfortable with me liking guys?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you comfortable with me liking you?”

Eric lifts his eyes to meet Vince’s, suddenly feels twice as drunk. “So it’s still like that?”

“For me, definitely. What about you?”

“Shit, Vin, if Turtle hadn’t walked in, I was gonna go for it, you know that? I was ready to lean in and just, I don’t know, throw myself at you, basically, be like, dude, whatever you want, take it.”

“God.” Vince takes another step closer.

“But that was, ya know, half our lives ago.”

Vince waves that away. “Doesn’t matter.”

“And now, I mean, what now?”

“We can just- hang out. However you want. If something happens, it happens.”

Even in the dark, Eric sees the doubt. No. He needs to fix that. “Look, listen to me- it’s not that I don’t feel this, between us. It’s not that I don’t want this, but-”

“What?”

“I keep thinking about the book.”

Vince frowns. “What about it?”

“Almost everyone in that story, they’re just using him.”

“That’s not you, E.”

Eric lifts the glass to his mouth, takes a single cool sip. He puts the glass down on the counter and walks to Vince, reaches up his hands and holds Vince’s face between them. “I wanna fuckin beat down anyone who ever hurt you, anyone who didn’t touch you right, fuckin take care of you like they should have.” He threads his fingers through the tangles of Vince’s hair, draws his face down, kisses one corner of his lips and then the other.

“Don’t-” Vince says, but he’s holding onto Eric tight.

“Don’t what?” Eric asks, wonders if Vince knows how willing he is to do whatever he’s asked.

“Don’t need you to hate them, just need you to-”

“Love you?” Vince shakes, their mouths meet, and Eric understands, suddenly and irrevocably, what his job really is.


End file.
